


The trouble with wanting (is I want you)

by hellcsweetie



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: 4x15, 5x15, 6x10, 7x13, 8x10, 8x14, Angst, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29540547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellcsweetie/pseuds/hellcsweetie
Summary: When Harvey is willing to be honest with himself, when he really stops and decides to cut his own bullshit, he knows he's thought about being with Donna before.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	The trouble with wanting (is I want you)

**Author's Note:**

> Title and italicized parts come from the song The Trouble with Wanting, by Joy Williams.
> 
> Hope you like it :)

_And I want you all the time_

.

When Harvey is willing to be honest with himself, when he really stops and decides to cut his own bullshit, he knows he's thought about it before. He's thought about it in depth and in all seriousness, and he's thought about it in jest or drunk. He's thought about it in his bedroom or in his shower, to scratch an itch, or as a random Thursday afternoon musing when he's procrastinating work.

But he had never thought about it in regret. Not until tonight.

Seeing her leave with Thomas makes every time he's ever thought about it go from " _what could be_ " to " _what could have been_ ", every possibility turn to a lost opportunity. And Harvey doesn't like losing - even if this is not a game or a bet, even if this is her life and she deserves to live it. He feels like he lost, and possibly for the first time in fifteen years he doesn't know why, can't tell what purpose this all served. Possibly for the first time in his life he wishes he could take it back, do it differently.

.

**i**

His hands were shaking. He had to brush his fingers against his nose to try to calm them down, as well as to buy himself some time to figure out what to say.

He was more nervous than he's ever been. Ever. He felt 16 again, asking his crush to be his date for prom.

He can't be sure that he would have confessed his feelings, mostly because he's only now fully realized them. But he would have asked if Scottie had said something to her and she would have asked what about, and Thomas wouldn't have arrived. In fact, Thomas wouldn't have been in the picture at all.

Donna would've asked, "About what?"

"About...," he would have trailed off, his throat dry. Donna's big eyes would have shined at him. "I...," he would have tried again, his mouth hanging open, searching for something to say. He would have seen Donna's face falling a little, indicating that his window was closing, and for once in his life he would have swallowed his fear and made a move.

"Have dinner with me."

Donna would have looked surprised, then apologetic. "I'd love to, Harvey, but it's been a long week and I was looking forward to going home."

He would have taken a step forward, looked deep into her eyes, voice sure. "No, Donna. _Have dinner with me_."

It wouldn't have been enough to express all he wanted to say, not even close, but she would have understood that he was trying, that he was ready.

"O-Okay," she would have stuttered, blinking, and he would have been so stunned he would have forgotten to tease her about it.

They would have taken the elevator down together, in silence, their hearts beating out of their chests, Donna demurely holding her coat.

Del Posto is their place but he wouldn't have taken her there, no. He would have told Ray to drive them to a place with good French food, because he knows she likes that. He would have pulled her chair for her and ordered their wine and he would have found comfort in the fact that they both would have seemed nervous.

They would have started awkward, tentative, talking about their weeks and work. Donna would've helped things along generously, for which he'd always be grateful. And then some time later she'd be in the middle of a story about her sister when he would have interrupted her.

"Scottie and I didn't just talk about work," he would have blurted out.

"Oh."

"Yeah," he would have swallowed, "She told me I ran away for long enough. That if I didn't make a move soon I might lose you." He would have looked down, gotten a final hold of his nerves, and looked at her again. "She's right, Donna."

She would have looked stricken. "What?"

" _This_ isn't enough for me anymore," he would have said, trying to skirt the actual words without skirting their meaning, to see if it helped. "And I was wondering if... you felt the same."

His hands would have been shaking and he'd set them on the table to try to relax. Donna's breath would have escaped her.

"Are you saying...?" she would've asked, voice shaky and quiet.

"I am," he would've nodded, and neither would be finishing their sentences but both would understand the other perfectly. 

She would have blinked again, pressing her lips together. And then her hand would have reached for his on the table, her palm delicate on his skin. He'd have taken a relieved breath and turned his palm up to intertwine their fingers.

They would have smiled into each other's eyes and they'd have continued to hold hands through dessert and the end of their wine and the ride to her place.

He would have walked her up to her apartment and he would have kissed her gently, chastely, barely more than a peck. 

She would have proposed for them to take it slow, not rush into anything, and he would have agreed, because she'd be right and he'd want her to know he knew it.

He would have been inside her not three minutes later.

**ii**

She looked so beautiful that night. He'd never seen that blouse of hers before and blouses aren't naturally something he notices unless he's thinking of taking them off, but he'd noticed hers and how regal it made her look. She took his arm and called him pretty and she was smirking like the cat who ate the cream because she was.

They'd gone to a loud bar and let loose - Louis had just become the new managing partner, drinks were warranted.

She'd been playful and open and he'd felt easy and light. And if he'd known then what he knows now, he would have bought them each a dose of Macallan, because that's always been their drink.

He would have sat closer to her on his way back from the bar, and he would have let their knees brush. 

Donna would have thrown him a look - a "what are you doing" kind of quirk to her eyebrow. He would have held her gaze and smirked, but not too much, because he would have wanted her to know he wasn't just drunk-flirting.

They would have continued talking and making fun of Louis and reminiscing like they always did on nights like this but he would have noticed things. Like how she would have let him place his hand on her knee. Or how she'd bite her lip occasionally, or touch her hair. How he'd allow his eyes to wander and would go back to hers to find them sparkling, not rolling. 

The bar would have helped - increasingly louder music and a growing crowd would have forced them to get closer to each other to be able to hear themselves. His voice would have sounded gruff in her ear and he'd feel her breath on his neck. 

Eventually conversation would have died down and he would have leaned closer.

"I really want to kiss you right now," he would have said, because he would have still been unsure if he should go ahead or not.

"Then why don't you?" she would have replied, and despite the fact that he had brought up the subject, he would have been surprised at her answer.

He would have pulled back to look into her eyes, make sure she wanted that, and would've found her staring at his lips.

He would have leaned in, no hesitation.

His left hand would have cupped her jaw as his lips folded around hers. He would have taken his time, sucking on her top lip, licking his way into her mouth. Their tongues would have tangled together, tasting of alcohol and each other. She would have breathed him in, her own hand finding the back of his head to hold him close.

They wouldn't have paid any mind to the crowd and the crowd wouldn't have paid any mind to them. His fingers would have tangled in her hair as he sucked on her tongue greedily. He would've felt her strangled whimper in his mouth, he would've been completely breathless, they would've lost themselves in each other.

Her nails would have scratched his scalp as she leaned even closer despite their sitting position. She would have tugged on his hair a little, making him lose his rhythm for a second, just like she did on the one night they shared. She would have grinned against his mouth when he tugged on her bottom lip.

He would have pulled back, sliding his nose against her jaw and up her cheek.

"Let's get out of here," he would have proposed, low and hot, and she would have looked into his eyes and found nothing but certainty.

She would have bitten her lip and nodded, hopeful.

They wouldn't have talked, not until the following morning in his kitchen. She'd be wearing his shirt and he'd be wearing just his boxers.

"So," she would have said, handing him a mug with fresh coffee, "What exactly happened last night?"

"Everything," he would have said, and she would have known.

**iii**

He would have come in.

He was angry and frustrated but he would have followed her inside.

She was so distraught and shocked, he still remembers the surprise in her eyes when he tore her resignation letter, and the possibility in her voice when she asked him if he wanted to come in. But he was still upset and unsure, not about his decision - he wouldn't have survived without her at the firm and he knew it - but about where to go from there. And so he would have made his way into her apartment in silence, only nodding when she offered him a drink.

They would have sunk into her couch, wounded and awkward. 

"I truly am sorry, Harvey," she would have said quietly, turning to him even though he wouldn't have looked back. 

He would have knocked back the rest of his drink, unsure of why he'd agreed to this. Her apology would have felt so right and so wrong, but his self-righteousness at the time wouldn't have let him see that the wrongness of it far surpassed the rightness. If anything, he should have been the one apologizing, but he wouldn't have allowed himself to admit that.

She would have eyed his empty glass and offered him another dose, and he would have considered leaving but would have accepted her offer instead. If he had known then what he knows now, he would have stayed through his anger, his indignation at feeling wronged, his pettiness and childishness. 

She would have watched him expectantly, probably waiting for him to say something or make a move or just justify his presence in general. Maybe out of stubbornness or pride - or, more likely, ineptitude - he would have continued staring down into his glass.

Donna would have sighed and asked, voice quiet and unsure, "Why did you come in, Harvey?"

He would have been tempted to shrug, or to stay silent, or to blame her. But he would have remembered the feeling of reading her resignation letter, of being faced with the prospect of losing her; he would have remember how all his fury had drained away in the milliseconds it took him to read the words "effective immediately".

"Because I want us to fix this, Donna," he would have finally confessed.

"I do too," she would have pleaded.

He would have known, and he would have loved to be able to tell her how to fix them, or for her to tell him, but he wasn't sure what was wrong anymore and who had to fix what. She made him cheat and he fired her; in a matter of weeks they had jointly shattered his entire idea of who he was.

He would have worked his jaw, trying to figure out where to start, trying to organize his thoughts and his guilt.

After another too-long spell of silence, she would have whispered, "Harvey." He would have finally looked at her and found her eyes red-rimmed, the tip of her nose pink and her hair frizzy around her turtleneck. She would have looked like an animal caught in his headlights, waiting to see if she had to fight or flee, waiting to see if he was going to hurt her. The sight would have pierced his heart, because he has hurt her too many times already. He has warranted that look.

"Why did you change your mind?" she would have continued, hesitant, her chest rising slightly faster than usual.

"Because it didn't feel right not having you there," he would have replied, and that wouldn't have been hard to admit because it has always been obvious, even to himself.

She would have blinked a few times, her nervousness coming off in waves. She would have bitten the inside of her cheek before taking a breath. "Do you think...," she would have trailed off, "Do you think this could be about more than work?"

He would have felt the familiar impulse of instinct telling him to say no, to retreat, to leave. But he also would have felt an even stronger desire to give in, to add fuel to the flame and watch it all burn, as if she were his own personal call of the void.

"Maybe," he would have said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

She would have swallowed.

"And do you think...," Donna's eyes would have fallen to his lips, and her tongue would snake out to lick her own, "Do you think fixing this could mean something different?”

She wouldn't have explained what "different" meant, and he wouldn't have asked, but he would have breathed a "yeah". They would have waited a bit, frozen in place, as their eyes communicated all that their words couldn't. And then there would have been no more talking and no more doubting as they slowly closed the distance between them.

**iv**

He should have figured it all out right then and there from the simple fact that holding her hand made all his problems go away.

Jessica had left. And him understanding her decision didn't make it any less painful. She'd been his mentor, his mother figure, even, and he'd been off the training wheels for a long time already but he'd never not had her guiding influence and her towering wisdom. Everybody leaves and everybody left.

But not Donna. 

She'd gone to find him, make sure he was okay. And it was unclear what made him admit so easily that he didn't want to be alone - that he wanted her to stay with him - but it had been indeed so easy he'd smiled at the realization.

She'd crossed the room, stopped right by his side, their reflections looking at each other and New York City. And then their palms had closed the distance between them, finding each other like magnets, and he'd felt her fingers enclose his.

Her hand had felt tiny in his, delicate and gentle. Her presence had been just as delicate and gentle, and still so overbearing and all-encompassing that the grief and sorrow slunk away. He doesn't know how she does it, but she always makes everything feel like it's going to be okay, and that night was no different. He was sad, and scared, and yet he just _knew_ he'd get through it, as long as Donna was there.

He still doesn't know how long they held hands for. He'd clung to her as if she were a life jacket and he was lost at sea, which maybe he was. She'd stayed with him, waited patiently for him to collect himself and get enough of a grip that he could walk out of there without falling to pieces. And then she'd eventually looked at him and, probably deciding he was okay, she'd squeezed his hand and released it.

He should have held on.

He should have squeezed hers back, held it tight and looked at her. She would have looked back, offered a little smile but he would have seen a question in her eyes.

"Thanks for being here," he would have said, instead of staying silent like he did.

"Of course, I'm always here for you, Harvey," she would have answered, either misunderstanding or not wanting to read into it.

"I know," he'd say, "And that's how I know I'll be fine." He'd brush her knuckles with his thumb gently, going one step further in making his case.

She'd look down at their hands, a bit surprised, and watch him for a moment before she looked back up.

"At one point or another, everyone's left, Donna," he'd start. "My dad, my mom, Scottie, Mike, now Jessica-"

"Harvey, I'm not leaving you," she'd rush to reassure him.

"I know, and that's exactly my point," he'd say, suddenly emboldened, "The reason why I could handle everyone else leaving is because I had you. And I guess that's because... I don't really need anything else."

Her breath would have hitched, almost inaudibly, and her eyes would widen, much like they did years earlier at her apartment.

"This isn't enough anymore, Donna," he would have found the courage to say, "I want more."

"What do you mean, more?" she would have asked, voice shaky and low.

"Us," he'd swallow, "I want us."

They wouldn't have kissed in his office. Instead, he'd lead her by the hand to the hall and then out of the building, ushering her into Ray's back seat. His hand would have found hers on the seat immediately, and they'd stare outside their respective windows but their fingers would have kept intertwined, a promise of _more_.

The following morning she would have brought him coffee in bed, wearing only his shirt, the coffee perfect and her hair luminous, and they'd have kissed lazily and surely. And it wouldn't have been a dream.

**v**

He was scared shitless.

He wasn't aware, back then, just how terrified he had been. Donna probably was; she's always been better at gauging his reactions than he is. That's probably why she let him in, why she talked him off the ledge.

She had been more straightforward than ever before, saying things and using words she'd never used with Harvey. She'd told him of her faith in him, the same faith that had wavered before and almost broken them, but was burning bright and strong again by then. The faith that told him he was more than the lump sum of his mistakes, that he deserved trust and a second chance and salvation. That he wasn't damaged beyond repair.

She'd been insistent, bold, pushy as all hell like only she can be. She'd grabbed hold of him and dragged him back into the light when all he'd wanted to do was succumb to the shadows. She'd handed him a mirror and shown him the beautiful parts of him alongside the flaws.

In return, he'd bared himself open to her. He'd let her see him cry, and to this day he thinks she was one of the very few people who did. He'd shown her his fears and insecurities and every last bit of himself that he hated - and maybe there are even less people who've seen that.

He'd shed his layers of invincibility and laid down at her feet, exposing his soft underbelly, showing her where it hurt. Harvey may be confident and arrogant but, at the end of the day, he doesn't like himself all that much. And that's what he showed Donna that night.

And then she'd told him she didn't want to lose him. 

He thinks, now, that maybe the biggest reason why he didn't rush to take Mike's deal in his place any sooner was because he was just as afraid of losing her. It wasn't faith, it wasn't confidence, it was her.

He would have told her that. That she believed more in him than he ever did and that he just didn't know what to do with himself without that. That she trusted him too much for either of their goods, but that maybe, just maybe, that was the only thing tethering him to sanity. The knowledge that she'd pick up his pieces if it all went to hell.

"Because I think you're worthy. And I don't want to lose you," she'd told him.

"You won't," he would have said back, low and quiet, almost a whisper, as he shook his head. Because it's true. Even now, Donna can't ever lose him.

She would have looked deep into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts.

"No matter what happens tomorrow, you have me, Donna," he would have murmured, completely exhausted from all the running.

Her lips would have parted, surprised, and then she'd slowly get up and walk up to him. She'd take his hand gently and pull him closer until he was right in front of her. She would have snaked her arms up his shoulders and around his neck, holding him close and bringing him in.

He would have practically folded himself around her, breathing her in, wrapping her tightly in his embrace, bodies pressing together to share the vibrations of their speeding hearts. She'd be small without her heels, but he'd be the one to feel tiny and protected as she cradled his head and turned her head to kiss his neck.

"We'll face this together," she would have whispered, and he'd have gotten so much reassurance from this that his breath would have caught in his throat.

He'd brush his nose against her cheek as he pulled back to look her in the eyes, resting their foreheads together. She would have caressed his cheek lovingly and it would have made him want to cry a little.

And then she'd have leaned up slowly, surely, and fused their lips, first one, then two kisses, before he came to his senses and kissed her back.

Being with her would have felt like nothing else he's ever felt in his life. It would have felt like being saved from perdition, like resting his feet up after a long day standing. Like every effort he's ever made had paid off.

He thinks maybe that would have been such a huge cosmic shift that it would have rearranged the atoms and maybe Mike wouldn't have gone to prison after all. But, if he had, at least she would have been there holding his hand when he did.

**vi**

The problem with that particular night, what made him slip up like that, was that he'd been hit in the face by how at home he'd felt. Coming home to Donna after work, a bottle of wine in hand and a grin put there by a huge win, the candles lit all over the apartment, the set table and the dinner she had ordered but made sure to serve in platters and bowls. Laughter and anecdotes, telling each other about their days. That had felt like something he could have. With her.

She'd looked perfect, and what still trips him up is that she was wearing casual clothes, simple loungewear that she could practically be wearing to bed, and yet she'd looked radiant. Her skin was glowing with joy and freedom and few things have made him more proud of himself than making her look that way.

He'd been itching to say something about Liberty Rail, to tell her how he fixed everything, how he conned Evan Smith into taking his deal, to gloat and share war stories. But he had sensed she wasn't ready to discuss it just yet and he remembered her saying she needed him to comfort her, and so he had tried to do just that.

He had helped her pour the wine. He had asked about yoga. He had reminisced about the god-awful dinner party and he had only teased her about her awful cooking once. She'd smiled at him, easy and familiar, and he had felt like he fit in there, in her kitchen and in her company. He didn't want that night to end.

And then he told her he'd never let anything happen to her, which he still means. He told her she didn't ever have to feel scared like that again, because she doesn't. And he told her anyone else ever lost faith in him, it didn't matter, but with her it's different. And he thinks that was the truest thing he's ever told her.

He'd never seen someone look more hopeful before, or since. He'd never seen someone look more open to a kiss. He'd never seen someone look more in love.

That's what terrified him. That look. How much it looked like the rest of his life, if only he'd let it.

He ran away but he'd give anything to turn back time and stand his ground. He would have felt the urge to say "I should go", but he would have resisted. He would have continued staring into her terrifying eyes, unable to say more but showing her he wasn't taking anything back, he was willing to show her whatever she wanted to see.

"Why?" he thinks she would have asked anyway.

"You know why," he would have whispered back.

She would have shaken her head a little, just as terrified.

"You know I love you, Donna," he would have said, and it would have been surprisingly easy.

She would have taken the next step, and it would have required no more talking.

She would have kissed him, and her tongue would have tasted like "I love you too". Her hands would have breathed promise and her legs would have spelled home.

Their synchronized movements would have felt like the winds of fate, sure and inescapable, the thread that has always bound them together tightening and winding around them until they were one. Her apartment would be his home; her heart would be his home. They'd be, together.

He can physically feel the yearning he'd felt that night, how it had suddenly seemed like just reaching out and touching her hair would have been the solution to all his problems. He thinks about what her lips would have felt like kissing his skin, how she would have thanked him again in the early dusk light and he'd have thanked her back because he may have fixed the case but she'd have given him more than he's ever deemed possible.

Happiness. And peace. That's what he found that night at her apartment, and what he would have fought to hold on to if he'd known then what he knows now - that he might never feel happiness and peace like that again.

He would have stayed. And he would have showed her how he loved her.

.

(He refuses to go any further. That was the first time he remembers being aware of his feelings, knowing there was something more there. He can't let himself believe there were times even before that when he would have done things differently, mostly because if he truly pays it honest, proper thought he might end up discovering he's lost even more years than he now knows he did. And he wouldn't know what to do with that.)

.

He thinks about those times, and every other time he's wanted her so bad it pierced through the veil of his willful ignorance, of his arrogance and fear, of his stubbornness. He can't help but think about what they could have now, about the fact that he could have been the one taking the elevator with her, he could have had dinner with her tonight, had a nice wine instead of the so-so drink he had with Samantha, held her on the couch, made love to her - yes, _made love_.

He doesn't like to dwell on what ifs, finds them impractical and mopey. He deals in certainties, in odds, in risks. But tonight he can't help but think-

What if he and Donna had had everything?

.

_I see you there, and I see that line_

_And I want you all the time_


End file.
